Sealed Fate: The 97th Hunger Games
by maddyodair
Summary: {Closed SYOT - but read along!:) T for language and violence}The first in the Sealed Fate trilogy. The 97th Games this year has a range of tributes, the strong, the smart and the mad. The arena is set in an abandoned city, full of dangers both physical and mental. Limited water sources and lots of mutts mean the tributes have a lot to face this year. Alliances will be tested.
1. vain hope

_an_

 _hi! im maddy aka maddyodair or maybe some of you might know me as maddymellark idk I forgot the password to that aaaages ago._

 _anyway welcome to my SYOT! so this is the first chapter introducing past tribute and Victor of the 76th Hunger Games, Henley Auto from District 6. He's not exactly a key character I've just had the idea of his Games in my head for a while and decided why not? So this is just so you can kind of see my writing style I guess, so enjoy! More info on the actual SYOT afterwards:)_

* * *

Lazy fingers trace the cracks in the bricks, a cold hand feling the rough surface underneath it's palm but not really _feeling._ Feet move in a direction the brain doesn't know,

 _(doesn't know? this is the seventh visit in three days; he knows the path well. he just doesn't realise. lost in his own thoughts.)_

off of the hard pavement and onto the soft, cushioning grass. The first time here he thought about all the bodies and bones buried underneath and it sent a wave of shivers down his spine but now the thought is almost comforting,

 _(it means he is not alone. it means the grief and the anger and the feeling of hopelessness is being experienced by other people. It means his world is not ending)_

much like the rest of the scenery around him is slowly becoming a second home. The sad, faded building once _worshipped_ by people who followed a "religion" now stands crumbled and abandoned, a shell of its former and glorious self. What used to be windows made of all the colours imaginable are wooden panels over a hole. Inside vandalism has turned the place into a home for morphlings. But the graveyard surrounding the ancient building stands as secure and big

 _(it's so big. the ancient graves are joined by hundreds of fallen soldiers, the girl on fire was put out and so was her army. )_

as ever, cracked stone and ineligible writing becoming less frequent the further from the building you go. Somebody along the line, after the attempted Uprising, decided to take care of the dead. A black gate sections off a small area of the land, and instinctively he finds himself drawn towards it, to a certain gravestone.

 _(and like every time, the first time he lays his eyes on the gravestone his herts lurches and a big, unforgiving wave of despair crashes onto him and fills up his lungs and he has to take a moment, to catch his breath and he wonders again why he's here, putting himself through this fucking torture again and again and-)_

Inside this gate lay the fallen tributes of District Six, starting from the 76th Hunger Games. Since then 40 children have been sentenced to their premature deaths, and only two have beaten all odds and come home again.

 _(She was not one of them.)_

He kneels by her gravestone, and with shaking hands places the yellow bouquet of flowers on the dirt. He wishes he knew what flowers they were, or that they were her favourite or something. But they were the prettiest on the market and he guessed that would have to do, the prettiest flowers for the prettiest girl.

 _(He was supposed to protect her.)_

 _(He made a promise, that day)_

 _(The day they were both Reaped)_

 _(She was supposed to win)_

 _(He was not supposed to put an axe through_ _her_ _head)_

 _(He was in love with her)_

 _(But not enough and he was selfish and he wanted to bring himself home because who would miss her? Well he has found his answer and tomorrow will be the Reaping and it will mark 21 years since his name was drawn from that goddamn bowl but he has found his answer. She is nothing more than a fading, distant memory in most people's minds and some bones in the ground but she was powerful and beautiful and every day it gets harder and harder and this year he will have to watch as his tributes either kill or be killed and if he brings another one home they'll turn to alcohol or drugs and he cannot do that again and he has had enough and-)_

His fingernails dig into the heel of his hand. He gets up and kisses his fingertips, before brushing them against the cold black marble of the gravestone. He turns around and leaves knowing fine well tomorrow morning he will buy the prettiest flowers at the market, walk to this very grave and cry.

* * *

 _an_

 _the SYOT form will be on my profile, please do not submit via review! Pms only :) it will probably not be first come first serve so please please make your character as descriptive as possible! Few things to keep on mind:_

 _-please, not every 12/13 year old is scared of the dark and still has to hold Mummy's hand and doesn't know why the people on TV are killing eahother ): sorry that was sarcastic oops, but in reality these children would know what's going on and would probably have to grow up quite quickly if they weren't from 1/2/4_

 _-14 and 15 year olds exist_

 _-I really love authentic and District related names !_

 _-please be realistic in your character. Accept that they have flaws._

 _-have fun!_

 _maddy:)x_


	2. fun in a dull, dull world

_an_

 _22 spots still open:) just another introduction chapter, but now focusing on the President and introducing her and the arena! Kind of an important chapter so if you're thinking of submitting a character please read: it shows what the arena is:). hope you like it._

* * *

 ** _Tatiana Decimus POV_**

Weak sunlight floods through the curtains and into my room, lighting up anything in it's path. Outside, it is quiet. The citizens of the Capitol do not wake until later in the day, and so the shrieks and laughter and hum of cars are for now, nonexistent. I lay, propped up in bed with my back against the headboard, draped in a robe that is covered by the thick, luxurious duvet. Next to me, Maximus has not yet woken. His nostrils are flaring as he breathes and his mouth is slightly open, a pool of spit slowly dripping from his mouth and onto the silk pillow. I look away. I have never loved this man, this man old enough to be my grandfather, and I never will. But my father trusted him and he has the same political views as me, and the main concern for my father was "what if she marries a commoner."

The people of the Capitol nowadays have names such as Glitz and Bella and BooBoo and god knows what else, only a select few are "lucky enough to be named after their ancestors." Of course, my father didn't have to grow up the only Tatiana among several BooBoos. No, my father led a very ordinary life, his parents worked in the fashion industry and the only relation he had to politics was my mother, vice President for a very long time. Growing up it was always very clear that my father did not love, or even care, for my mother and that he was only after the power. However my mother was a fiery, angry and stubborn woman and honestly, nobody else wanted her. She hated my father but she loved me. She never forced a career in politics onto me, she wanted me to follow my dreams, and she was there for me every step of the way.

When she began helping me to achieve my dream of becoming a stylist for the Games, she "rather unfortunately" died in a car accident.

"What a tragic _accident_." was the only thing my Father said, and immediately began coaching me on how to win votes. I was ten years old.

But this is my life and how can I complain? I am adored by most, and respected by all. I have everything I could want. Money, power, wealth, three beautiful children. Most days, I am content. Not happy, no, to be happy I would be in a studio designing clothes all day and then going home to a quaint and pretty little house on the outskirts of the Capitol, greeted by a husband the same age who loves me. Ah well. I can't have everything.

I try to savor this morning, this moment. A gentle breeze from the open window makes the curtains float apart and for just a second I get a stunning view, the sky painted candyfloss pinks and oranges the same colour as the exotic fruit we get imported. I shut my eyes and lean my head back, closing my eyes.

And then the door is flung open, bringing in a cold breeze that reminds me the rest of my mansion is not as nice as my bedroom, and the annoying _click click click_ of ridiculously high high heels comes closer and closer to my bed. Inwardly I groan.

"Good morning Madam President."

I open my eyes, coming face to face with the worlds most annoying, dense assistant ever. Jazzabelle Hemsworth is in her early twenties, religiously reads tabloid newspapers, and keeps up to date with the latest Capitol trends. Recently, that involved tinting her skin baby blue, and then also dying her hair electric blue and wearing contacts and clothes to match. She never passed her Mandatory End of Education exams, her vocabulary exists of mostly "like" and she always carries a tiny kitten in the snakeskin bag that is permanently hanging off her elbow. I look over and see that both said kitten and bag are now blue.

The only reason I haven't fired her is because she's the butler's neice, and honestly Mario has been in the family generations and is older than Maximus. He's funny and sweet and call me soft, but the last thing I want to do is upset him. What a great, strong, tough President I am.

"Good morning, Jazzabelle."

She does the stupid curtsy thing that she does every morning, I had given up telling her she doesn't need to a while ago, and then hands me a heavy brown folder. "I have the papers you asked Mr Claudworth to forward to you, a letter from your aunt, a letter from the Head Peacekeeper about something confidential, and then the arena plans."

I flick through the mind-numbingly boring papers until I reach what I've been waiting for: the arena plans. Obviously I oversaw the planning process, but I left the building to my Head Gamemaker. Now I get to see the final product, the result of a years planning and decisions and making.

I already know what I'm about to see, but I still grin like an excited schoolchild when I open the cover and see what awaits me. "You're dismissed, Jazzabelle." I say with a wave of a hand, my eyes never leaving the paper before me. With yet another _click click click_ and the sound of a door shutting, I'm alone. Me and my arena plans. Well not entirely, Maximus is asleep but we never talk so it doesn't make a difference.

"97TH HUNGER GAMES." the title reads. Below are pictures, details and information about the arena.

The arena this year is to be a repeat of the 32nd Hunger Games arena. No real reason why, but that arena is still voted number 1 in "Hunger Games Weekly". Obviously there will be differences, but bringing back an old favourite cannot be a bad thing.

The arena is an abandoned city, war-torn and grey. Tall, crumbling buildings hold deadly mutts - as dangerous mentally as physically. Contaminated puddles of water and occasional rain are the main sources of water, save for a lake by the Cornucopia that is guarded ferociously by mutts. The arena is not supposed to be the remains of District 13 (the Gamemaker who suggested that at the 32nd Games planning was executed), but as a deadly reminder to the Districts what could happen if they ever step foot out of line again. Three strikes and you're out. They have one strike left.

The folder contains masses of information. The tributes will have to find out the heard way that this arena is deadly and unforgiving.

* * *

 _an_

 _I know the information doesn't seem like a lot there, but there's the arena! There is a lot of information I want the tributes to figure out for themselves: for example the mutts (which I'm super excited for!) and what types of buildings. Hope you enjoyed, there are still 22 spaces so submit!:D_

 _-maddy:)x_


	3. hopelessness and hopefulness

_an_

 _d1 reapings! whoop! still a lot of spaces left so check out my profile! don't forget to review!:)_

* * *

 **District 1**

 **5 am**

 **Azalea Flores, 16**

Autumn leaves crunch under my boots, and in front of me I see reds and browns and purples coating the path - the hard, grey concrete barely visible underneath the warm palette sent from the trees. Morning dew is already beginning to solidify in the harsh October cold, but Begonias still stand tall and proud in the grass. Above me the sky is a celebration of colours, an ombre of purple to blue to pink to orange.

Nature is showing off today, like the rest of them.

Today the other girls my age will spend hours putting on expensive clothes and daintily painting on pink lips and gold eyelids, and then they'll walk to the town center, arm in arm and giggling. They'll gossip about boys and make comments on the dress the escort is wearing, and then they'll go home. They have showed off, they have done their bit, they have made District 1 look good in front of the cameras.

But it is not all like that.

Not everyone is tall and blonde and called Shimmer, and not everyone is rich.

(Some of us come from poor families who dote on the prettier sister, the smarter sister; some of us come from families who believe every _fucking_ lie they hear as long as it comes from _her_ mouth because "darling Alyssa always tells the truth and how dare you break this plate" even though you've been at the Training Academy all day and this is the first time you've been home in what, a week? And you don't get a hello or where have you been, no, because _some of us_ are not wanted and not loved and some of us have HAD ENOUGH.)

Some of us are looking for a way out. _Any way out._

Volunteering is a way out.

* * *

 **District 1**

 **6 am**

 **Silver Quinton, 18**

"Velvet Thornton."

Velvet gets up so quickly he pushes his chair back, and the sound of metal scraping the metal floor echoes sharply around the room. I don't say good luck to him, I don't even look up at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pause at the door, where the instructor is patiently waiting. "May the best man win, Silver." he purrs, and then he's gone.

Yes, Velvet, may the best man win.

Therefore, I will win.

In a mere couple of weeks I will be crowned Victor, and Velvet will worship me, begging for forgiveness at thinking he could _ever_ be better than me. In a few weeks, I will be the best. I am great, I am wealthy, I am strong. But I am not the greatest, nor the wealthiest, nor the strongest. Becoming Victor would make me all those things. I can finally be a _champion._

After a few minutes, Velvet comes back into the dull waiting room. I look up just as the door shuts, and meet his eyes. He has a layer of sweat all over his _stupid fucking_ face, his curly blonde hair sticking to his damp forehead. He is breathing heavily, and he wears a cocky smile on his face. "Try beating that." He hisses, still smiling, and then walks over to the other side of the room and sinks into the chair furthest away from me.

"Silver Quinton." the woman opens the door again, poking her head around the corner. I stand up, brush my trousers down and turn to face him, not smiling.

"I could with my eyes shut."

Feeling confident and prepared, I stride past the instructor and into the main Academy hall. It is vast and big, with many training stations. I see the dummies by the sword station all cut up and lying on the floor. _Fucker!_ I think, and for a minute I am seeing red. Swords are _my_ thing, I am the best! How dare he?

I manage to keep my cool, and stand patiently by the sword section, until I make eye contact with another instructor and he rushes forwards to replace the dummies.

The instructor by the door takes her place seat at a long, white table, where various other respected instructors and previous Victors sit. "Good morning, Silver. Congratulations on getting this far, a feat not many can say they have achieved. This morning you will have ten minutes to prove that you are a worthy candidate to represent District One in the Games. Good luck, and your time starts...now."

* * *

 **District 1**

 **7 am**

 **Azalea Flores, 16**

I was asked to leave the academy only half an hour after I arrived, they were doing the trials for the male candidate for this years Games. I wasn't picked this year, and I wonder who's place I will steal.

I made my way back home, and although the sun had risen and beating down, the realization of going back home hit me and I felt colder than ever. I slipped into the house, unnoticed, and crept upstairs, trying not to be noticed. I was halfway up the stairs when a voice from below startled me.

"So she shows her face!" The unfunny, unoriginal comment from Father emitted a harsh laugh from my Mother and Alyssa.

But that was all I got this morning, which was a relief, and they left me in my bedroom alone for the rest of the morning.

Now I lie back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I'm not dressed up for the Reaping, I'm wearing what I wore this morning to train - an all black outfit consisting of a black tank top, black leggings and black sneakers. But my thoughts are far away from my outfit, instead I'm thinking about the Games.

Going into the Games...there's no way I can lose. Either way I escape the cruel clutches of my family.

I wouldn't mind either, I guess, I suppose it's time to acknowledge the growing depression inside me.

No, I wouldn't mind either.

Winning,

or death.

* * *

 **District 1**

 **8.30 am**

 **Silver Quinton, 18**

The Reaping starts at exactly eight thirty in the morning, like always.

I stand in my section, making a point of standing as close to Velvet as I can.

I.

Won.

I got picked and _he didnt_ and I want him to be able to hear my voice loud and clear when I say "I volunteer!"

I want him to know that I am better than him, and I want him to know that he was not good enough and I was stronger and faster and better with a sword! I want him to know that I am more attractive and I was more liked and **I was better.**

And he will know all of these things when he hears my voice ringing, two words that I get the privilege to say, not him.

Me, not him.

Me.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **8.30 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus POV**

District One, one of the most promising Districts. Their tributes are strong and fierce and beautiful, they always make the Capitol people happy. The screen before me shows their crest, before Hades Templesmith launches into the live footage of the Reapings.

Macie May is District One's escort, as dumb as pretty as the traditional tributes One sends out. Decked out in soft pinks and purples, she taps the microphone and begins to introduce herself. She goes over the Uprising and the Rebellion and shows the same footage they show every year. Then the Mayor steps up and reads the same speech as he does annually, and I'll be the first to admit it's dull, and I zone out for a while.

But then, in an excited tone Macie announces it's time to pick the names and now I, alongside every citizen of the Capitol, find myself on the edge of my seat.

Macie swirls her hand around the glass bowl, before picking a cream slip, perfectly wrapped with red ribbon. Manicured pink nails untie it, and a a chirpy voice calls out a name. I have learnt not to pay attention to the original names, as someone will always volunteer. And I'm right.

Two girls call out at the same time, and a few murmurs elect. A tall, willowy blonde girl, dressed up in a tight red dress, spins round to find whoever dared challenge her. Ah, how she'd be perfect. But in the time she wasted looking, the other girl was already up on stage.

She's average height, but her surprisingly casual tank top shows off honed muscles. She has brown skin - odd for District One, but Hades comments on how she's probably descended from ancient civilizations, Hispanic or Indian - and long, black hair. She's frowning, but I don't think she means to, it's probably her resting face. The blonde girl gives a frustrated, high pitched scream, and turns sharply on her four inch heels to strut back to her place.

Macie hands the microphone to the girl, who rolls her eyes and introduces herself as Azalea Flores.

Then, Macie is going over to the male bowl, and she takes her sweet time picking a slip of paper. She walks back center stage and unfolds it, scanning the name before looking out into the crowd, beaming. "Hansel-"

As predicted, a strong, male voice calls out "I volunteer!" and a tall, blonde boy marches up on stage confidently. He doesn't give Macie a chance to say anything, just smoothly grabs the microphone and addresses the crowd. "I am Silver Quinton and I am your Victor, District One!"

I sit back in my chair, looking at how the two tributes on screen. Interesting. But I don't have long to think about them when the District 2 crest is flashing on screen.

Happy Hunger Games, Silver and Azalea, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.


	4. thrill seeking

_an_

 _here we have Vita and Varius! I love these twins **so so so** much and honestly I cannot wait to write them in the arena. It took me a while to think of what to write for the Reaping, but I came up with this - I hope I did them justice! _

**_also!_**

 _i've had two tributes drop out for various reasons. i'm really really excited to get this show on the road (wow that was cringey) but i still need **8** more submissions, especially **district three male** and **district four male** , because their reapings will be pretty soon and i want to do them ASAP:) I'd also like a few more **older tributes** , i have quite a few younger one who I all love but really i'm now looking for 15/16/17 age category, and non-bloodbaths. thank you all so much! _

_-maddy:)X_

* * *

 **District 2**  
 **7 am**  
 **Vita Cassian, 18**

The town square of District 2 is quiet, peaceful.

Preparations for this years Reaping are well underway, and slowly the hard, formal grey of Two is being decorated with blue bunting and flags showing the Capitol crest, although it does nothing to brighten up the place. The Peacekeepers work in near silence, moving boxes and crates without needing orders. The only sound is the thud of something heavy being put down, or combat boots walking across the gravel.

And then we come down the path.

"Who the fuck goes on a run because they're bored?"

"Yeah Vita, you bitch. Everything aches!"

"Well maybe now at least you'll fit into your Reaping dress."

"Julius if you do not shut your mouth right now I will cut you."

I snort at Diana and Julius's mindless bickering, and notice that a handful of Peacekeepers look up at the noise we are making. Compared to Julius and Diana, I feel refreshed and ready for anything, and I can tell that Varius does too. Who the fuck goes on a run because they're bored? Me. Staying still is so dull. And I love running, Varius and I are easily top of our class in sprints and long distance, as well as our chosen weapons. For me, it's archery. The feel of an elegant and polished bow in my hands, and knowing that it is deadly as well as beautiful? There's nothing like it. I long to have one in my hands in the arena. I long to be in the arena. I just want to feel the thrill, to get away from this boring, repetitive life. Wake up, go to school, train, go to sleep. Not that I don't love training, but I want to put my skills to use.

This mornings run was fun, in my seemingly unpopular opinion.

Varius has been pretty quiet and when I look over at him I see him standing, looking over at the Peacekeepers, with a devious look in his eye. Oh for fucks sake. I mean, I say that but whatever it is he has planned you can bet that I'm going to take part in it too. "What is it?" I grin, walking over to stand next to him. Without his gaze leaving the stage, he turns his head slightly so it's facing me. Diana and Julius come up to us, both as eager to hear what he has to say as I. "How much trouble do you think we'd get in if we cut that banner down?" I turn to look at what he's talking about, and I see the Head Peacekeeper and the Mayor stood center stage, both with clipboards and pointing at various locations, discussing something. Above them, a grey banner with "DISTRICT TWO" in bold, white letters, ripples in the wind, tied to the buildings either side with rope.

"None at all if we don't get caught." I say, and Varius looks at me, grinning.

"Then lets do it."

* * *

 **District 2**

 **7.30 am**

 **Varius Cassian, 18**

As soon as Julius suggested we turn it into a competition, I became even more excited. Who could cut their rope first, me or Vita?

We are both borderline dangerously competitive, but for Vita it's different. She likes to win, to bask in the glory of her accomplishment. I've always just loved the thrill whilst doing it, the danger, the adrenaline. This year we're both Volunteering for different reasons: she wants to win, she wants to break free of routine and do whatever she wants because she's a Victor. I just want to be in the arena. And I suppose Vita has that too, but for me it's my sole purpose of Volunteering.

Would I rather live to seventy and and never feel alive or live for another few weeks and feel as alive as possible? Another few weeks, that's for sure.

I snap out of my thoughts and look up, making eye contact with Vita. Oh fuck, she's already halfway through sawing through her rope, and I haven't even started. I feel in my pocket for my dagger, and begin to cut. Climbing is another strength Vita and I share, so getting up here was no problem. Below us, Julius and Diana are tasked with distracting the Peacekeepers. Their tactic consists of acting like idiots and getting yelled at.

I look over at Vita and see that sweat on her palms has caused the grip on her handle to loosen a little. Ha! I am used to holding handles, my weapon of choice is a broadsword whereas Vita uses a bow, and so I have an advantage. I have caught up to her now, and both of us are just seconds away from cutting through our rope and letting the banner fall onto the Mayor and Head Peacekeeper. Afterwards we have roughly ten seconds to get down and run away.

I smirked excitedly at the thought, that we could get caught. Adrenaline caused me to cut faster and faster-

until my rope breaks from where it is tied. A mere second later, Vita's rope is cut free. The banner falls down gracefully and covers the two most important people in the square. I have only a second to admire our handiwork before Vita's hissing at me that we need to go. I jump of from where I was standing and hurl myself down the fire exit, and looking over I see that Vita is doing the same on her building. Halfway down, I find myself laughing uncontrollably. We get to the bottom where Julius and Diana stand, both laughing too, the same time as the Peacekeepers reach the stage.

"Hey! You!" One notices us, but this just makes me laugh even more.

"Run! Run!" Vita squeals, giggling like a schoolchild.

"Oh for fucks sake not again." Julius moans but all four of us break into a sprint, however it is nothing like the practiced run we went on this morning, it is sloppy from laughter and we are constantly bumping into each other, but finally we make it to safety. Outside mine and Vita's house, we say our goodbyes. Julius and Diana won't be seeing us after we Volunteer. We have a rather large family, Vita and I - there's our parents, our younger sister Naomi, our older brother Chase and then our older sister Flavia. Plus, Flavia has two children and a husband and Chase has a girlfriend, so they're all going to come and visit us separately. Also, our trainers from the Academy are coming to visit us, too, so there's just not enough time. We already said goodbye to Tremor, Oxanna, Cassandra, Landry and Vulcan. But it was always going to be the hardest with these two.

Julius outstretches his hand and I clap it and bring him into a "man hug". I look over to see Vita hugging Diana warmly. "Mad respect for both of you." Julius says, smiling. Diana nods. "Have fun. Don't get killed." I smile a little at that, and then they're gone.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **8.35 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

Ah, District 2. They normally supply the brutes, the bloodthirsty, the tributes born to kill. And I am sure this year will be no exception.

The Town Square in Two is very large, bigger than most Districts, so it bewilders me why they haven't bothered to make it look good this year. Where is their banner? I'm distracted from this thought process when Ebony Moonlit walks onstage, beaming at the crowd. She's an annoying woman, very punctual and bossy.

After all the speeches - and an unexpected one about respect towards your District and elders - she finally picks a slip from the female bowl. She barely has time to read the name when a loud and strong "I volunteer!" is called and a girl from the eighteen year old section sprints onstage. She's fast, I'll give her that. She wears a long, brown skirt with a yellow blouse and brown boots, her long blonde hair is plaited neatly down her back. As the camera does a close-up on her face I see just how pretty she is, large brown eyes, full lips and bronzed skin. She's tall and athletic, and a serious contender. She introduces herself with a purr as "Vita Cassian."

After a hearty round of applause from the audience, Ebony goes to the male bowl and picks a slip of paper. This time she pauses, lifting her eyes to the crowd and not even bothering to read a name when someone volunteers.

A very tall, muscular eighteen year old sprints up to the stage with the same speed as the girl, and at a closer look I see the resemblance they hold to one another - he's extremely attractive, with the same tanned skin, full lips, chocolate brown eyes and the same blonde hair - although his is shaved short. It doesn't surprise me when he introduces himself as Varius Cassian.

Twins. This should be fun.

Happy Hunger Games, Vita and Varius, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.

* * *

 _an_

 _woo Vita and Varius!_

 _-What did you guys think of them?_

 _-Who do you think is more likely to get further/win?_

 _reviews are always appreciated, especially if you have submitted a tribute, it;s nice to see who's following along:)_

 _-maddy:)X_


	5. being the best

_an_

 _yay district three! i love delta she's so pure and Radian was a right laugh to write about honestly i love him. also i spent ages googling 'computing questions' for delta so pls appreciate me_

 ** _one submission spot left: 8 male:)_**

* * *

 **District 3**

 **7 am**

 **Delta Hahn, 15**

"What is a compiler?"

I read the flashcard aloud and then screw my eyes shut, trying to think. "A type of translator that takes the whole source code and compiles it into object code, which means the program can then run." I open my eyes and flip it over, scanning over the words and then smiling triumphantly. I put the card down on top of the ever growing pile of questions I have done this morning. I've been up since since six and my eyes feel heavy but my Mandatory End of Education exams are in a couple of months and I cannot afford to do poorly if I want to beat everyone else.

"What is an interpreter?" the next one reads. My eyes flicker over to the easel in the corner of my room, blank and begging to be painted on. I haven't used it in _months_. But my schoolwork is more important and I need to make more time to study. I do love to paint, though, and I miss it a lot - the feeling of letting go and how creativity pours out of the end of the brush, how your thoughts could be spilled out of your head and translated onto canvas, in the form of something either truly beautiful or truly haunting. _Focus. What is an interpreter?_ Right.

"A type of translator that takes the source code and then- and then... and then translates and executes the first line of program. It then repeats this for the rest of the lines in order, until it reaches the end of the code." I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, and then double check I'm correct. I put the card on top of the pile and rub the heels of my hands into my eyes. When I bring them down again I don't feel any less tired than before. With a sigh I push my chair out from under my desk, tuck my hair behind my ears and walk downstairs to the kitchen.

On the table is my breakfast: a wooden bowl full of strawberries and a hunk of bread and butter. It's not bad; the strawberries are fresh which makes a very pleasant change, but I guess it's a Reaping day special. We get by, the Hahn's - barely, but we do. I understand that life in District Three is harsh and cruel - a lot of highly intelligent people in one place can mean limited jobs and constant political disagreements, but I will try to rise above. I am smart, always top of my class and hardworking. Whatever I lack in talent I can make up for in determination, and I won't give up. I eat my breakfast in silence, my mind drifting to the exam I have in a couple of weeks. I'm well-prepared, the past few months of my life have been spent hunched over my desk and reading through my textbooks. I need to beat the rest of my peers in this test- I need to outdo all of them. I need to be the best.

The sound of the front door being opened catches my attention, and then my mother comes into view. She wears a look of exhaustion. She single-handedly runs an electronics shop and the long hours can take their toll; she is pale and deathly thin and she always has dark under eye circles. My mother would do anything to ensure I have a bright future, she's loyal and protective and I love her with all my heart. "Morning Delly." she smiles, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat opposite me, and begins to untie the laces on her boots.

"Morning!" I chirp, "where have you been?"

Mother makes a face. "Emergency call, three streets over. Nobody had any power. Where's your father?"

"Still asleep." I shrug, and Mother's face drops.

"His hours are long and he works too hard," she pauses for a moment, upset, and then brightens up again, "like you! Are you making sure you're taking breaks? You should meet up with Corina before the Reaping." I shake my head, and get up to put my bowl by the sink.

"No, she'll just want to talk about Adrian. I best carry on revising." Before I slip away back upstairs, the last thing I see is my mother shaking her head almost sadly.

* * *

 **District 3**

 **7.30 am**

 **Radian Switch, 16**

"Radian! Radian! Has the mail come? Did they send anything back?"

I swoop down the stairs, one hand on the banister, and come face-to-face with my nine year old sister, Kayda. She stands eagerly at the bottom step, looking up at me with excitement in her blue eyes that match mine. She's about to say something else when I hold my hand up dramatically, making her look at me in confusion. "Kayda. I doubt we will hear anything back from them just yet, they are _very_ busy people. And honestly, your dancing it that video was less than satisfactory." All excitement from Kay's eyes are gone, and instead the threat of tears replaces them. "Truly, we'd be lucky if they even watched all of it, surely after ten seconds of your _dancing_ they would have projectile vomited everywhere." I say with a sniff, and then proceed to walk to the front door.

"Radian." Iona's quiet voice makes me roll my eyes, but I stop in my tracks and turn around.

"What?" I say, voice dripping in boredom. My dull, twenty year old sister Iona is sat on our dull sofa in our dull house in dull District Three, with Kay now curled up next to her, sniffling and sucking her thumb. "What do you say to Kay?" I roll my eyes again, and they go so far back my head hurts.

"Oh please she is doing that for attention!" I snap. I know Kayda, we're quite similar. In fact, many of her tactics she has learnt from me. Bitch. Iona calls after me again but I've already left the house - letting the door slam behind me - strutting up to the mailbox at the end of our dull garden. With hands shaking from excitement I open it up and-

empty.

Empty?!

Not again, not for the ninth time in a row! I was so sure this time, and honestly Kayda's dancing was quite good, although I couldn't let her know that. Couldn't have her getting all the attention, could we? Defeated and broken-hearted, I begin to walk up to Tamery's house. My life has no purpose now. She'll understand, and she'll give me support. Then we could make out.

'Voices of Panem' is a singing show that I have watched religiously since I was a toddler. The only good thing about coming from District Three is that we have pretty much unlimited power, so I never miss an episode. Other than that, Three is a dump and I still can't believe I was born here instead of One, or the Capitol. Anyway. Voices of Panem is a show where singers compete for money and fame. The winner gets to tour the Capitol afterwards, performing concerts in every major arena. What a life! The contenders are mainly from the Capitol, because transporting people from the Districts can be a hassle. After the Capitol, District One is a big supplier of contenders, and then Eleven. It has been my dream to go on the show ever since I watched that first episode, and my father even made me a camera to record my tapes to send to the Capitol! Of course he would, he's a pushover.

I just don't understand why I haven't been accepted, I'm seriously attractive and I have the voice of an angel. And a majorly hot sort-of-girlfriend, _and_ I'm popular at school! What's not to like? I don't get it.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **8.40am**

 **Taiana Decimus**

District Three. One of my personal favorites, their intelligence and wit has gotten many tribute of theirs far into the Games. If only they were stronger. It still beats me why the other Districts don't set up training Academy's like One, Two and Four. Oops. I'm not supposed to know about that.

Three's escort is a genuinely kind-hearted and caring woman, with forest green hair so long it trails on the floor behind her. Karliah Kress introudces herself, smiling warmly out at the audience. When she gets no reply, she quickly moves on with the Reaping.

The female slip she picked reads the name 'Delta Hahn', in perfect cursive handwriting. "Delta? Where's Delta?" Karliah calls, and a girl from the fifteen year old section walks out, taking shaky steps to the stage. Like hundreds of tributes I have seen before her, she is trying to put on a brave face. But her bottom lip is quivering and I can see this poor girl is near tears. She's small and lean, with dark skin and long brown hair. When she smiles timidly at Karliah, she reminds me of a mouse.

"Now for the boys!" Karliah says. She chooses a slip and walks center stage again before reading it, drawing out the suspense.

"Radian Switch!"

Dead silence, and then.

 _"NOOOoooOOOOOoooOOOOO!"_

The camera's jump to where the voice comes from and a tall, blonde boy wearing a tuxedo - _a tuxedo?! -_ has fallen to his knees, hitting the ground repeatedly. On stage, Karliah stands with her mouth wide open. The camera pick up on the rest of the audience, most of whom are burying their faces in their hands with embarrassment. Obviously this boy is well-known, but for all the wrong reasons it seems.

Radian slowly picks himself up and makes his way to the stage. Karliah still doesn't know what to say, but as soon as Radian sees the camera, he changes completely.

"Hello viewers from the Capitol! It's your guy, Switch the Rich! I made up a song about me and I submitted it to Voices of Panem but they never answered, so here we go! And a-one, and a-two, and a-one two three four-"

The cameras cut off and the crest for District Four flashes up on the screen. I stare in disbelief at the screen. Did that really just happen?

Well.

Happy Hunger Games. Delta and Radian, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.

* * *

 _an_

 _there we go!_

 _-opinions on radian and delta?_

 _-who do you think would go further in the games?_

 ** _also!_**

 _i don't want anyone to think i've forgotten about the goodbyes the tributes get after the reapings: the structure will go like this: reapings 1-12, goodbyes 1-4, goodbyes 5-9, goodbyes 10-12,, train journeys 1-6, train journeys 7-12. and then we'll go from there:)_

 _remember the district 8 male spot is still open, and don't forget to review!_

-maddy:)x


	6. polar opposites

_an_

 _so this is district four reapings! i really hope you like Kaiza, tell me your thoughts as a review:D and artemis is so sweet i can't wait to write them both in the arena asdfghjkl;_

* * *

 **District 4**

 **1 am**

 **A week before the Reaping**

 **Kaiza Yoshida, 17**

I stick to the shadows, my shoulder grazing against the walls, moving quickly through the night. My fingers itch to feel a machete in my hands, to feel it sink into skin again, to feel warm blood spill out and coat my hands. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I pick up the pace, keeping my head down and side-stepping the light that pours out of a nearby window. I cannot risk anyone seeing me, not when 22 teenagers have been found dead over the past four years, their bodies discovered scattered all throughout the district. Or sometimes, the bodies are found with bombs inside them. Those are my particular favorite. A strict curfew has been put in place, anyone found outside after ten o'clock without a pass or legitimate reason will be arrested on the spot. But I will sometimes spend weeks studying my soon-to-be victims, analyzing their every move, and watching from afar. I have mastered the art of stealth, and I am confident nobody will see me.

From here I can see her house, built by the shore. Behind her house is white sand, and then ocean as far as the eye can see. The bitter wind that is to be expected from being so close to the coast dances around me, numbing the tip of my nose and ends of my ears. It picks up a copy of yesterday's newspaper, probably left behind by a fisherman going to sea, and for a second it is suspended in the air, until it comes flying back down at my feet. I stop for a second and look down, letting out a quiet laugh as I see the headline.

"MYSTERY KILLER TAKES ANOTHER VICTIM!"

Ah yes, sweet Coral Clacton. Quite young, I think thirteen. But she was there, and I was bored, and yesterday they found her head on one side of Four, the rest of her body on the other side. Humans are vermin. We are destroying the Earth. How pitiful and how _dull_ they are, with their routine and starvation and god knows what else, what do normal people get up to?

I am the God of Death.

I am cleansing this world, one by one. And my latest target is sixteen year old Irvetta Reel. Her friends warned her against it, and she should have listened to them. "He's a creep, Vetty. He never talks." but she kept going and kept going, batting those eyelashes and putting on a sickly sweet voice, like she thought I _cared._ Oh, she's a pretty girl, curvy and tall and with gorgeous brown hair, but her chitchat has gotten on my nerves. I prefer to isolate myself, to sit in silence and think of how I'm going to strike next, and how can I do that if I'm constantly being interrupted by pointless flirting? I tried to ignore it, but slowly and slowly she has been testing my patience.

I stand outside her door, and look up. I know that her bedroom is the window on the right. I hover, considering my options. I could climb up, and the window could be easily opened, and I'll be inside in a matter of seconds. Or, I could have a challenge. With a wicked grin, I raise my hand and knock on the door. Nothing happens, but when I knock again I can hear stirring from Irvetta's bedroom. When I press my ear against the door, I can hear the _patpatpat_ of feet coming downstairs. The door flies open and Irvetta stands, half-awake and confused. "Kaiza? Wha- what are you doing here?" She mumbles, running a hand through her hair, knotted by sleep. I lift the machete up and the silver light of the moon makes it look magnificent. Irvetta's eyes widen, but she's still not sure what's happening. She goes to say something but I interrupt her.

"You have to come with me now."

* * *

 **District 4**

 **10 am**

 **Artemis Rarity, 17**

"Hey."

I look up at Marson, and when his warm brown eyes meet mine every worry I have seems to ebb away. "Hey," he says again, taking my hands in his. "It'll be okay. You'll be great. Be loud and confident, you got this." I pull my hands out of his grasp and instead throw them around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder. Every other citizen of Four walks past us, anxious twelve year olds too busy worrying to notice us, and eighteen year olds relieved that this is their last year doing the exact same thing with friends and lovers.

Today I volunteer. I leave my parents and my boyfriend for a couple of weeks, but hopefully I'll return. Thirteen years of training should pay off.

Four has a training Academy, but it's nowhere near as big as One's or Two's. Training is becoming less and less popular, and only a handful of people have their whole life set around winning the Games. Every year the number of seventeen or eighteen year olds willing to volunteer seems to go down. Winning the Games and bringing honor to your family name is still a thing, and for some it's their only reason for Volunteering. Me? I want to bring pride to my District and all that, but also I want to be a mentor, I want to coach and train tributes to success, but first I have to win the Games. The District with most Victors is Two, then One, then Seven, then Ten, and then Four - and the other career districts have picked up on this. Last year's career pack didn't let our tributes in, but both were Reaped anyway and were predicted that they wouldn't last more than a day or two. And they didn't, both were bloodbaths

I started training when I was four, by my parents request. They've always wanted this life for me, to become a Victor, and I want to make them proud of me. I think, if I was given the choice, I think maybe I wouldn't volunteer. But I haven't been given the choice, and besides I don't exactly _mind,_ training is fun and it's where I met some of the best people in my life: Marson, for starters, and then my friends such as Lucia and Magdalen. I am confident that I can return, and I have to if I want my dream job, if I want to marry the boy I love, if I want to make my parents happy and financially comfortable.

Marson's tight grip around my waist relaxes, and he kisses the top of my head before he steps back. "Let's go check in." and I nod simply, following him as he twists through the crowd, weaving in and out of people until we reach the queue of anxious teenagers, waiting to have their blood drawn. Anyone could get reaped, and this year there is no boy volunteer to save the probable 13 year old who has to go in. Not a lot of people know I'm volunteering, but every single teenage girl will go home today happy and relieved and safe for another year. The thought warms my heart.

The Peacekeeper grabs my wrist and takes my blood, and then scans it. I reach up on my tiptoes and give Marson one last kiss, and then I disappear to stand with the rest of the seventeen year old girls, and seal my fate.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **8.45am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

District Four is intriguing. They've always been sort of reluctant careers, but after the attempted Uprising they've quietened down even more. And now, they are plagued with a serial killer, slowly beginning to take out the teenage population. We've had many meetings about Four's current crime situation, and when it comes down to it: it's not worth our time or resources. Four's peacekeepers can deal with that, not ours.

Anyway.

Four's escort has really taken her new role to heart; Ylana Cresent used to be District Seven's escort but last year the Victor was from Seven - Rowan Axer - and so she's been upgraded to a "better district". She's dyed her skin light blue, following the trends I see, and her short hair has also been dyed blue. She's wearing a seashell bra and a long, blue skirt made to look like a tail of a mermaid, a fantasy creature that many young children of Four love and admire.

She's chirpy and energetic, and the Reaping goes without a hitch.

Firstly, she calls the female name. A young girl steps forwards, legs shaking so hard that her knees knock together, and in the distance a woman wails. A girl steps out of the seventeen year old section and strides forwards, yelling "I volunteer!" She's pretty, seriously pretty, with long wavy black hair and a beautiful lacy top and blue skirt, and when the cameras zoom in we see her dark green eyes with specks of blue that matches Four's ocean. She has full, pink lips and large eyes, with long eyelashes. If she wins, the Capitol will be all over her. She introduces herself as Artemis Rarity with a smile. Strong, confident and happy. What a nice girl.

Ylana picks a card from the other glass bowl, and calls out "Kaiza Yoshida."

A tall and slim boy from the same age section as Artemis comes forward, grinning like a madman. Hades comments on his Asian decent. He stands on stage, and begins to twitch. Ylana carries on talking, but the cameras zoom in on Kaiza's face. He has an evil look in his eyes, and his grin is now an ugly grimace. "I am so excited to kill." he mouths, seemingly to himself. With that the cameras zoom back out, and then the District 5 crest is being shown.

The seemingly perfect career, and a boy who looks like he has a lot of secrets.

Happy Hunger Games, Artemis and Kaiza, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour.


	7. predator and prey

_an_

 _district 5! hope you like 'em! important info below:)_

* * *

 **District Five**

 **8am**

 **Mariah Grey, 15**

We slowly make the walk back to my house in silence, hands linked together but no words spoken about it. Like always. A kiss there, mindless flirts here, but nothing ever said about whatever it is, whatever it is we have going on. "Those two are so cute!" people whisper, and we hear them yet nothing ever happens, about _us_ and about _this_ \- whatever 'us' and 'this' are. We're each others only friends, who else would want to befriend the arsonists? Yet it's like we're some sort of freak show for the everyone else our age to stare at. "Aww how cute the two creeps are in love!" In love? I don't think so. Maybe. Probably not.

I met Daimain when I was 12 and I stormed out of the house after having another epic screaming fight with Bl _FUCKINGBITCH_ air _._ Our father had awoken from a drunken slumber and raised his fist as if to hit me. So I left. Obviously he wouldn't have ever dared touch me, he's a wimp and a coward who crumbled after our mother died, never goes to his job and his only friend comes from a bottle. He's pathetic. But I couldn't stand being in a house with Bl _thatbitchihateherthatbitchthatbitch_ ai _whothefuckdoesshethinksheiswhowhowhothe_ r, so in a huge strop, I slammed the door and began to stomp down some dirt path, not knowing where it would lead. Bla _fuckingbitchihopeyoudie_ ir likes to bring up the fact that I have anger issues. And I do, I guess. I don't know. She just thinks she's so fucking perfect, and that pisses me off because she _is_ \- B _BITCH_ lair is the pretty sister and the smart sister and the popular sister and the musical sister and the sporty sister and she rubs in my face all the fucking time. I'm not jealous, I couldn't give a less of a shit about that pathetic bitch but she annoys me a lot. And she does it on purpose too. She tells her friends that I'm "not right in the head", and maybe I'm not. I don't give a fuck.

So anyway, I was walking down this path, beyond pissed and taking it out on the creatures I come across. I went out of my way to stamp on the various bugs in my path, and when I stumbled across a small white mouse I brought my heel down on that, too. Later, I found myself constantly thought about how it's eyes bulged before it died, nearly coming out of their sockets. I'd always find a smile was on my face when the image crossed my mind. But yeah, I'm angry and there's such an itch in my hand to hold a match, and ache in my heart to set anything, literally anything, on fire.

I found an old shed, and from the outside it looked pretty abandoned. I fumbled in my pocket, and clutched my box of matches excitedly. The grass around the shed was dead and dry, and it looked like nobody had been here in years. Until I opened the creaky door and inside crouched a boy, a few years older than me with black hair, pale skin and sharp blue eyes. He looked up in surprise, but only for a second or two and then his eyebrows dropped and he smirked. He stood up and it was then I saw how tall he was, and how in one hand he had a bottle of gasoline - _how did he get that? -_ and a box of matches. "Hey." He said, suave and cool.

Together we sat a couple of meters away from the shed, watched it go up in flames, and then made out.

And now, yet again, our boots are both covered in ash, the only proof left about what we have just done - that, and the pile of rubble where an abandoned shack once stood. Daimain stops outside my house, and pulls his hands away. He's about to say something when the front door flies open and B _fucker_ lair stands there, in her lovely pale yellow Reaping dress which was once mine. Waste not want not, here in District Three. She has an ugly sneer on her face, and is probably about to yell at me when she notices Daimain, and instantly her expression softens into a girly and flirty one. Jesus, she's only thirteen and Daimain is turning seventeen in a few weeks, yet it's like _she's_ the one in a kind-of-but-not-really relationship with him. "Hey Daimain." she giggles, wrapping a lock of her black hair that resembles mine around her finger. Daimain ignores her, and leaves our house with a promise to see me at the Reaping.

Blair scowls and I smile, triumphant.

* * *

 **District Five**

 **9 am**

 **Volt Tinker, 16**

"Volt! What are you doing?"

I cringe at the voice and stop in my tracks. Oh for God's sake. "Uhh, nothing Father." I say, meaning for it to be strong and believable but like everything I say it is weak and comes out more of a question. This is why I don't talk.

"Turn around boy!"

With a sigh, I swivel around on my heels, clutching the tray so hard my knuckles are turning white, and biting down on my bottom lip. I'm on one side of the corridor, right outside Mother's room, and father is on the opposite, one hand resting on his office door. There are probably five rooms between us but even from here I can see the disappointment in his eyes.

My father is a loud man who often shouts things instead of speaking them. He is short with a big gut and he's often red in the face and breathing heavily, he has wiry grey hair and a really, really bad mustache. My older brothers have a running joke that on our Grandmother's deathbed the one thing she asked him to do was to shave it. Not very funny, if you ask me. Our grandmother died a year ago from a chronic illness, and the day she died she called us into her room, to have a one-to-one talk. They only lasted about two minutes each, she had very little time, and she asked every member of our family one thing. Or so I heard. I have five older brothers and I'm the youngest in my family. By the time I got to her she was exhausted, and ready to go. But...I don't think that clouded her judgement. I don't think she had a question to ask me.

"You're a bright boy, Volt. I'm so sorry this happened to you." she whispered, her voice hoarse. She wasn't talking about her illness, or death. I stepped forward, and sank into the bed next to her, gripping her hand tightly. "Gran," I tried to say but my it felt liked my throat had closed up. "Gran, what do you mean? Gran?" she shut her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Volt, I'm so sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry." And then, she was gone.

Father drops his head, looking at his feet. His hand never leaves the door and he sighs deeply. Then he picks his head back up, counts to ten aloud and then marches over to me. "Volt."

"Hello Father. Good morning, isn't it?" I whisper meekly, hoping that maybe if I keep talking he'll be so astonished that I'm actually able to form sentences and hold a conversation, he'll forget all about the tray in my hands. No such luck. "Volt. What's this?" he asks, referring to the tray even though he knows damn well what it is and what I'm doing with it. I stare down at the tray, and like before, on this day a year ago exactly, I feel like my throat has closed up.

"Mother's breakfast." I whisper, finally.

Father sighs, again.

"Volt. I am the Mayor of District Five! We have four servants. Why on _Earth_ are _you_ the one bringing breakfast to your lazy mother? Get Wyren to do it, he just finished mopping the floors. For Christ's sake, Volt, when will you learn that you don't have to help _everybody?_ Sit back and enjoy your privileged life like your brothers! You're too kind to everyone and it's seriously getting on my nerves now."

He droned on like that for a while, "you're too soft blablabla", but I wasn't listening. My _lazy_ mother? My mother has depression, diagnosed and everything. It came to her after Grandmother died. She can't help it, Jesus Christ how can one man be so _insensitive?_

"Go and get changed for the Reaping, Volt." Father snaps, knocking me out of my thoughts.

"Can I take this to Mother first?"

"Damn your Mother!" He screeches. One hand flies out and smacks the tray out of my hands. I watch as it falls to the floor, spilling orange juice and smashing the china plates. Shards of glass fly everywhere, and toast lands butter side down on Father's polished black shoes. He hardly notices, he's too busy staring at me, anger swimming in his steely grey eyes. "Wyren!" he screams, and from downstairs I can hear the pitter-patter of anxious feet, armed with a mop.

"Go, Volt."

I wish I could stand there and yell at him, stand my ground. But I don't. I go, like he says.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **9 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

District Five's tributes are either very boring or very exciting. Their tributes are always weak and thin, but they're smart - so incredibly smart. The camera picks up the drab grey which seems to cover Five in vast amounts. In the distance, huge factories can be seen through the screen. The ones that get picked up by the camera are turned off on Reaping day, so that the ghastly smoke and pollution can't be seen. But still, the other factories are open and the children who pile into Five's town Square are coughing and wrinkling their noses in disgust.

But there's another reason I'm so eager to watch these Reapings today. If all goes to plan, our male tribute should be sixteen year old Volt Tinker.

Five's escort is the kind, bubbly yet forgettable Flopsy Bunnie. Or, her personality is forgettable, just another Capitol citizen. But her dress sense? Well, it's certainly something to look at. She was a white tutu, and has pink ballet pumps, pink hair and pink rabbit ears attached to a headband on her head. Dear God.

"Greetings District Five! It is _such_ a pleasure to be here! My name is Flopsy Bunnie and it is my _absolute delight_ to be able to Reap your tributes this year!" she squeals excitedly, but Five gives her no response.

Hastily, she picks a slip from the female bowl and reads out, "Mariah Grey!"

A few murmurs ripple through the crowd, and then there's a scream of "God fucking damn! I do _not_ have the time for this shit!" Flopsie stands, mortified, as a tanned girl with long black hair and green eyes marches onstage. Flopsie blinks twice and then claps her hands together. "Cool! Now for our boy, who is... Volt Tinker!"

Yes!

Tinker's Grandmother was discovered to be continuing secret rebellious acts, inspired by that Everdeen girl. We could have just outright killed their family, but the father is the Mayor, and he's damn good at his job. So we killed the Gran - when the Tinker family was last in the Capitol for business, we injected an illness into her as she slept. But that's not enough. The five eldest boys are all strong, smart, and could probably easily win the Games. But the sixth? Volt? He wouldn't say boo to a goose. So last year, we Reaped both of his best friends: Gadget Twist and Shift Luk. Both died, obviously, and this year, he's been Reaped. And will die. Obviously.

The Mayor starts to scream, and Volt slowly starts to take shaky steps upstage.

Easy prey.

Well, happy Hunger Games Mariah, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour. As for you, Volt? I'm afraid the odds haven't been in yours.

* * *

 _an_

 _woo! what do you think of them?_

 _sooooo i had 8 male and 10 male reserved for people but neither have submitted the tributes and it's been, like, a month so the spots are officially open! please submit:)_

 _also this hasn't been checked over at all i'm on my ipad and ugghh. i will later_

 _-maddy:)X_


	8. family

_an_

 _uh i love these tributes to death but then i've said that for like literally ever other tribute? i don't know how i'm going to kill anyone off without crying. ANYWAY here's obie and zachary, tell me your thoughts on them! reviews are much appreciated, especially if you've submitted:) notice the new name? i'm making this into a series, right into the 100th hunger games as the finale, all syots. what are your thoughts?_

 _also!_

 _as a side project, i've started a new **partial** SYOT called 'Sacrifices'. If you could check it out it would mean the world to me!:)_

* * *

 **District Six**

 **10 am**

 **Obie Glasstein, 14**

"Parker's going to ask you out." Espen says matter-of-factly, causing Piensa to choke on the hunk of bread she was eating.  
" _Espen!_ " she manages to shriek between gasps for breath, before spiraling back into a fit of spluttering and coughing. I feel the blush creep up my cheeks and duck my head. Suddenly my wooden floor is very interesting. Espen laughs at this. "Well it's _true!_ " she exclaims, thumping Piensa hard on the back. Piense groans and buries her head in her hands. "She's not supposed to _know_ that!" We're all sat around my table, plaiting our hair for the Reaping. It's such a miserable day, and it looms in front of us like a huge, black cloud, yet my friends always manage to make me laugh. It's especially hard for Piensa. She lost her younger brother to the Games last year - on his first Reaping as well, but as usual she's holding her head high.

Espen has been my next door neighbor since we were babies, she's always been my best friend. We're quite similar in some ways, both intelligent and loyal - but Espen is more sharp-tongued and bold, whereas I "always have my head in the clouds". We met Piensa in the factories when we were nine, and ever since we've been a little trio, and I don't know what I'd do without them.

I was working in the factories, mainly to save up for a clarinet. Ever since I was little I've loved music - banging and crashing on pots and pans, pinging elastic bands around cardboard and the likes. I've been playing since I was eight, and I taught myself how to play, and now my clarinet is my most treasured possession. I play in the Square for extra money sometimes, but my main supporters are my family.

Lyla comes into the kitchen now, with a sly grin. "What's this I hear about Parker?" she says, sinking into the chair opposite. This sends Espen and Piensa into another round of laughter. Lyla and I are opposites I guess. Blonde, headstrong and not afraid to speak her mind, my eleven year old sister is already more outgoing than me. Still, I love her dearly. Lyla's twin brother, Albo, is a lot quieter. In fact, I didn't even notice that he had slipped into the room, too.

"I like your dress, Lyla, blue really suits you." The compliment I give my sister not only changes the direction of the conversation, but I genuinely meant it too. Blue does look good on her. I try to notice people often, compliment them. It never hurts to be nice, and you never know, you could make someone's day. Unfortunately, Lyla's smart too, and the conversation swivels back round to me again.

"Oi you, no changing the subject. What's this about Parker?" I can almost feel myself turning into a tomato.  
"Nothing!" It comes out like a squeak.  
"Hmm, whilst we're on the topic, what about you, Piensa? How's _George?_ " Espen grins, elbowing her and winking.  
"Ow! Stop it! Nothing is happening between me and George!"

That's not true and I know it, but I'm keeping my mouth shut. Not my place to say, and besides, I was trusted with that secret. Soon, my Mother comes in, smiling sadly. The upbeat, optimistic atmosphere in the room is instantly shattered. "Come on girls, Albo. Wouldn't want to be late."

And so we all file out of the door, hearts heavy, and make our way to the Reaping.

 **District Six**

 **10.45 am**

 **Zachary (Zach) Kaufman, 16**

"Hey, Henry, guess what?"  
"Oh my God, Ford _no._ "  
"Someone take Henry out of the room, right now."  
"Shut your fat mouth, Ford."  
" _What?!_ I was only going to tell him-"  
"For fucks sake Ford! He's eight years old!"  
" _Guys,_ I was just going to tell him that there's a new girl in my year."  
"No there isn't, stop chatting shit."  
"No, there is! Guess what her name is?"  
"What?"  
"HENRY NO."  
"Norma Stits. Her boyfriend's name is Frank Lee Gay. Bit awkward between those two lately."

Mercedes lets out a groan and shakes her head. Carson grins and goes to hi-five Ford, but stops when he sees Mercedes's venomous glare. "It wasn't even that funny! He's eight years old, Ford! Eight! _Eight_!" Mercedes hisses. Ford nods solemnly, then turns to Carson and I.  
"She's just learnt to count, you see. Keeps repeating things, showing off. She'll stop eventually." He looks out of the window dramatically. "Next we'll move on to the alphabet. Maybe reading- _Hey!_ " he ducks just in time for the spoon to hit the wall behind him, and not his forehead. Henry looks on, not really understanding. He's a sweet kid, funny and lively. Innocent. Ford's intent on ruining that, it seems. He's eighteen but you'd never guess, he has the maturity level of a twelve year old. Our mother died giving birth to Henry, and dad is super hard working, so it's up to us four to look after him. Unfortunately, the only girl in our family is Mercedes and she's about as motherly as a robot. Still, we get by, and he doesn't seem to be having any problems.

It's always like this, in the Kaufman household. Busy and loud and there always seems to be someone bickering. Not that I realize the extent of the volume, what with being deaf in my right ear and all. Yup. When my older brothers want my attention they call me by my affectionate and loving nickname, which must have taken them _hours_ to craft. "Deaf ass idiot." How original and full of love. But we do all love each other, and we don't really mean the abuse we give the others. Even if Ford is being disgusting, Carson recovering from a drug problem, Mercedes being bitchy, or I'm doing my zumba which for some reason either pisses everyone off or makes them all laugh. At me, not with me though. Oh well.

I just always want to be on the move. I can't sit still, and even when I'm standing I have to be bouncing on my toes. It seemed obvious to me that my exercise of choice would be something that means I have to constantly be on the move. Apparently to Ford and Carson it's the funniest thing in the _world._ I begin to slip on my shoes, and stand up. Taking Henry by the hand, I move to the front door. Everyone stops talking and looks up, and the silence is so out of place in the Kaufman kitchen that I hurriedly push open the door, and out into District Six.

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **9.05 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

District Six's crest shows up on the screen, and I slump back into my chair. Six, Eight, Nine, Eleven and Twelve nearly never have any good contenders. Occasionally you'll get the mechanic who's both smart and strong enough to get into the final Eight, but again, rare.

Alana Reign is Six's escort. I like her, she takes no bullshit whilst still being likable. She makes the traditional and required speeches, plays a film, then calls the name of the female tribute.

"Espen Links!"

* * *

 **District Six**

 **11 am**

 **Obie Glasstein**

"Espen Links!"

 _Espen Links!_

 _Espen Links._

The name rings out in the crowd. To her, Alana has called out a name. To me, she has called out a death sentence.

"No." I whisper. On my right, Piensa begins to scream.  
"No no no, Espen you can't go Espen you _CAN'T_! _ESPEN!_ " her voice is so full of despair and anger and it makes my heart ache for her, first her brother and now her best friend. But Espen can't go, she just can't. Espen is all bark and no bite, she's funny and smart and brave but she couldn't ever go into the Games. I dare to take a look over to her, and to my horror I see she's already taking shaky steps towards the stage.

"I volunteer." I don't realise the words are out of my mouth until I say them, but I don't regret it.

Espen whips around, staring at me in shock. Then her face crumples and she shakes her head, turning around again.  
"No, no! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" There's a scream from far away which I can only assume is Lyla's, and Pensia is griping my arm and trying to pull me back, wailing, snot and tears streaming down her face. But everything seems muddled and blurry and fuzzy, and the only thing I concentrate on is getting to the stage. I pass Espen, who is being escorted back to her place by Peacekeepers.

I make it to the stage, trying to focus on my breathing and not crying. Alana looks at me, blinks twice and then hands me the microphone. "And what's your name?"

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **9.05 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

"My name is Obie Glasstein and I'm fourteen years old."

Fourteen? That girl has guts. She's pretty, that's for sure: shoulder length brown hair and big, blue eyes. She's wearing a knee-length green dress, and she looks lovely. Jesus, that scene was heart wrenching. Alana seems keen to move on, and the girl is trying not to look out into the crowd.

"And our male tribute is... Zachary Kaufman?"

Silence in the crowd, and then a boy from the sixteen year old section steps out. Obvious Asian descent, smaller than usual sixteen years old and black hair and eyes. His eyes are raised slightly in shock but other than that he walks silently to the stage. Obie and Zachary shake hands, and then the District Seven crest is on the screen.


	9. the future and the past

_an_

 _aand district 7! these 2 are so precious! what are your thoughts on them?_

* * *

 **District 7**

 **11.10 am**

 **Liliana Melrose, 13**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _I have to leave to go to the Reaping in a minute but I haven't written in here in soooo long! What's new? Well, Iven came knocking again last night. We ignored him, but it was weird to see him again. The last time he was here I was 10, I think. It feels weird to call him 'Iven', but what else would I say? Pa? Father? Daddy? No, he made the choice to leave. He made his bed and now he can lie in it. Ma calls him "that irresponsible bastard" and "pathetic excuse for a human". I quite like those, actually. I think it sums him up. Have I ever told you about TIB/PEFAH? Wait, let me check._

 _Just flicked through, and nope, I haven't. Well, as you know Diary, Ma had me when she was superduper young, like, 19 I think? And my grandparents on BOTH sides said they wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Well they're the ones missing out! At least, Ma says that and she has to because she's my mother. But I'm okay with not knowing my grandparents. We've always been alright, Ma and I, on our own. There's always been enough food on the table, and my teachers' say I have excellent manners. Ma is very proud of that._

 _Speaking of teachers and school, school ended early yesterday, which was superduper cool! Probably has something to do with the Reaping, I suppose. But yeah, Fareah and I went exploring, and then we came across some abandoned train tracks which was superduper fun, because we raced each other up and down them. I won, every time! That's thanks to Ma though, I guess. We used to go for runs a lot of the time, and I got reeeeaaaaaally fast. We also did some other stuff which I thought was a bit weird, like what she called "target practice". Then one night Fareah and her Mother were round, and I overheard Ma tell Fareah's ma something along the lines of "she's the only thing I have left" and "can't lose her to those Games." So basically, I've been somewhat training. Move over District 2! Liliana Melrose is going to kick your butt! Just kidding, we haven't been out together in aaaages and. Oh well._

 _Anyway, then Fareah came back to mine, and then we played with Angel for a bit. Angel's my cat, as you know Diary. I still can't believe it and I got her what, 7 years ago? I'm sooooooooo luckyluckylucky, what a great birthday present! She was a kitten when I got her so she's a bit rough around the edges now, but I still love her. I superduper love animals, especially cats. Then we had dinner and Fareah went home, although she's back now for the Reaping. Her Ma's having (another!) baby, and wants to stay in bed as long as possible, so Fareah came here and now my Ma is doing her hair. She's already done mine, like I normally have it. It's getting quite long now, though - past my waist - and those waves are a right pain, so getting it in a bun is tedious. I'm wearing black leggings and a grey sweater dress. I've got my combat boots on and Ma just gave me a bronze bangle to wear, it's superduper pretty!_

 _Ma's telling me to hurry up, but I don't want to leave and see the same old trees of Seven. Gosh, if only I lived in Four. I'd always be outside! Imagine being surrounded by an ocean... Oh, how I long to travel! Ah, get yourself together Liliana. I want to explore, and I want to become a writer in a country where travelling is strictly forbidden and the only books are facts about the Capitol. And even then those are hard to come by! I think I've read every single one. I love to read. And I love to write. Maybe one day I'll be the first published fiction writer? A girl can dream. Although, I feel like I'm doing a lot of dreaming lately. All these wishes I have! You'll never guess what I've asked for my fourteenth birthday, Diary. An easel! Ma said okay, as long as I buy the paints. I'm going to finally take up painting!_

 _Anyway, really must go. Ma and Fareah are by the door. After the Reaping Fareah and I will probably go to the Lake, so I'll take you with me and write in you after._

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _Liliana Melrose, aged 13 and 3 quarters as of tomorrow._

* * *

 **District 7**

 **11 am**

 **Grover Arbusto, 13**

"And then he got fired, so that plan didn't work, although- oh for _fuck's_ sake." Hemlock stops mid-sentence and looks at me, exasperated.  
"What? What happened next?" I ask, feigning interest.  
"Oh fuck off Grover, you couldn't give less of a shit." Hemlock rolls his eyes and flops back on the grass, closing his eyes and letting the weak sun beat down on his face. "Yes I could! I care! I want to know-" I begin to protest, but Hemlock snorts.  
"You have a cat on your lap, Grover. I could never compete against it." I consider the statement for a second.  
"Hey, that's not _exactly_ true!" I say, scratching the stray under it's chin, and getting a satisfied purr as a response.  
"You had to think about it!" We both start to laugh, but the shaky movement makes the cat promptly to get up from my legs in a sulk and instead sit next to me on the wall, flicking it's tail in annoyance.

I have to sit on the wall, because I still haven't gotten the hang of crossing my legs. Though, they're not my legs. They're not even legs. They're bits of wood shaped to look like legs. But they're alright! I've gotten pretty used to them, and even if I have to use crutches, it's way better than no legs, at least! I think I'm lucky, it could have been worse. I could have died, alongside my father.

When I was eleven, my mother was home sick. She couldn't go to work, so instead it was me who went to work alongside Father. I did that normally anyway, but it'd just be little jobs like clearing twigs out of the way or fetching axes and the like. This time, I went further into the forest, with Father and the rest of the workers. It was cool! They were all laughing and joking, and they were all tall and muscular and could swing around an axe like it was just another part of their arm. I mainly sat at the side and watched, not really doing much but occasionally someone would let me have a go at chopping at a tree!

And then...the accident happened. A tree fell, which was nothing new. But lots of us had turned to walk back for lunch. The worker tried to give the warning but we were all talking, and nobody heard him. Four people died, including Father. I was stuck there, the trees on my legs in the worst pain I've ever felt, and it can't have been more than twenty minutes before the tree was rolled away, but it felt like twenty hours. My legs had to be amputated. Hence, the crutches and wooden legs.

But it's okay! It's fine, I can easily go about my life. Well, not easily. But still! I can still do things. And other boys might be horrible and call me a cripple and take my crutches away on purpose, but at least I have Hemlock. Hemlock's fourteen, and lives a couple of houses down. He doesn't have many friends either, he has a wicked temper but I've never been on the receiving side. Instead, he directs it all at the bullies who like to make my days hell. But, again! I'm okay! I have a loving mother, who is maybe a bit over protective but she has her reasons, and I even have my own cat! He's old, but I still love him. His name is Shadow and he sleeps on my bed at night, and then sleeps on the porch all day. What a life!

Hemlock and me are quite different, I suppose. He's very pessimistic and he has said on more than one occasion that he hates my "positive attitude all the fucking time! Really Grover it's annoying." but he doesn't mean it. He's just grumpy all the time. I like to look on the bright side of things, what use is living in despair all of the time? I could have moped around the house and felt sorry for myself when I got my new legs, but I didn't. As soon as I was able to I was outside, testing them out. You have to be positive, otherwise you'll begin to notice everything bad. And when you live in an outer district, that's a lot of the time.

But, I'm glad to live in Seven. Aside from my new, deep fear of being around trees, it's great!

* * *

 **The Capitol**

 **9.10 am**

 **Tatiana Decimus**

I'm hoping for good tributes from Seven this year. The older tributes never fail to disappoint, most start work in the trees and using axes in the early teen years. Strong and able to use a weapon well, recently there has been a spike in career tributes from Seven. Rumors have begun to spark about possible Training Academies planning on being built.

Last year's Victor was from Seven, and he was in the Career pack. Beheaded them all with his axe.

Seven's escort is forgettable, your typical Capitol citizen. He's on trend too, blue hair and blue skin. God. He introduces himself - Maxy? Matty? - and then starts babbling on about what an honor it is to be here! After Ylana got upgraded to Four, we had to get a new escort in for Seven. I make a mental note to ask whoever ran the interviews why in Panem Maxy/Matty was chosen.

"Liliana Melrose!" he calls.

A girl steps out from the thirteen year old section. My heart sinks. Dammit. Probably a Bloodbath. But as the cameras zone in on her face, it shows that it's expressionless. Her stone cold exterior takes away from her attractiveness, she has high cheekbones, big sea-green eyes and blonde hair. In the distance, a girl begins to wail. Maxy/Matty (or was it Mikey?) claps excitedly, but he's the only oe. "Very good! No tears from you, eh? That's what we like to see! Anyway, time for the boys."

"And our lucky lad is... Grover Arbusto!"

A horrified silence sweeps the Square, and then a _tap tap tap_ sound of wood against concrete is picked up by the cameras. A boy, thirteen, with tanned skin and brown hair makes his way to the stage. His legs are covered by his jeans, but by the way that he walks stiffly, and the fact he's using crutches, it is obvious that this boy has an issue with his legs.

Matty/Maxy/Mikey(Marky?) puts one hand over his mouth and the other over his heart, but he makes no effort to help the boy get onstage. "Oh poor _you!_ " he coos, and then takes a deep breath, as if he's being the bravest man in the world for being this boy's escort.

Well, Happy Hunger Games, Liliana and Grover, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.

* * *

 _an_

 _again, not checked. i will one day, promise._


	10. Updates

hello all!

school has just started for me and i am very busy, but i promise you disrict 8 reapings will be on their way! updates may be slower & i might not respond to PMs as quickly

thank you for understanding:)


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